Reformed
by Shinigami Rumbleroar
Summary: Sherlock and John's daughter marries the son of Moriarty and Moran.  John is not pleased.


**Reformed**

Rated for language; inspired by a dialogue prompt on the livejournal meme.

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><p>If there had ever been a more awkward wedding in the world, John Watson would very much have liked to see proof, preferably in video format. Oh, the happy couple was brilliant and absolutely in love with each other, the service was beautiful, and the reception was extremely well put together. All of that was fine. It was the family that was a bit of a problem.<p>

You see, the happy couple, happy as they were, consisted of Irene Watson-Holmes and Sebastian Moran Jr., and that can only mean trouble.

John wasn't even sure how it was that his daughter wound up marrying the son of Sebastian Moran and Jim Moriarty. To begin with, they met through work, and not in a good way. Irene had just made sergeant at Scotland Yard and was working on a homicide. Sebastian Jr. had been a suspect. He'd been more than a suspect, actually. He'd been _guilty_.

John shifted irritably in his seat and tried to control the violent urges, which had begun at some point in the middle of the ceremony and had only gotten worse since. His eyes were narrowed fiercely in the direction of his new son-in-law. It was too bad he'd been made to leave his gun at home, he thought for the hundredth time.

"Now, now, John," Sherlock said, patting him on the arm. "You're scaring the wait staff."

"How," John spat, "are you so calm about this whole thing? Our daughter, _your_ daughter, just got married to the murderous son of your arch-nemesis and his _henchman_."

"Better him than some boring, ordinary bloke with a job at a _bank_ or…or a _company_," Sherlock said with a shudder. "At least she won't be bored."

"He could kill her!" John cried.

"Oh, don't be dull, John," Sherlock groaned. "He's had plenty of opportunity to do that already. If he was going to murder her, he'd hardly have gone to the trouble of marrying her. Besides, she's smiling. I thought you liked it when she smiled."

Leave it to Sherlock to be so absolutely oblivious and so absolutely right. He was so stupid about some things, but not about John. Sherlock loved Irene, that was true, and he was proud of her – as anyone who got within listening distance would quickly learn – but he never really understood why Irene made him so happy. All he knew was that when Irene smiled, John smiled. And that was enough. Pointing it out now was mere deduction.

It also sent a stab of pain through John's chest.

It was true – Irene was glowing with happiness, her lips spread almost wide enough to split and her blue eyes sparkling with joy. She was completely in love with that homicidal bastard and there wasn't a thing that John could do about it.

"Hello, boys," a familiar, chipper voice said at that moment. John stiffened. "Having a good time?"

Sherlock and John turned to find Moriarty and Moran standing behind them, both holding a glass of champagne and looking irritatingly dapper. Moriarty looked smug while Moran remained his usual, stoic self.

"Oh, fuck off," John sighed.

This was the worst part of the wedding, really, having to put up with the literal partners in crime. It had been a very difficult, complex procedure, setting up immunity for them for just the night – they couldn't be arrested at the wedding or for an hour before or after as long as they behaved themselves. One of the 'perks' of the bride's uncle being the government, John supposed. He also supposed that it made sense to at least let them be at their son's wedding, but, fuck all, he didn't have to like it.

"Now, now, Johnny," Moriarty grinned. "Don't be so glum! You're ruining the happy atmosphere."

John grumbled and shoved an appetizer in his mouth.

"Up to anything interesting lately, Moriarty?" Sherlock asked dryly. "Should we be concerned that we left the dog at home unattended?"

"Oh, Sherlock," Moriarty said. "Such a kidder!" He sobered quickly and became serious. "Actually, there's one small matter that we need to discuss. I'd leave it until later – I just _hate_ ruining a good party with business –"

"Don't lie," Moran said, speaking for the first time. "You love to ruin parties with business."

"Different kind of business, darling," Moriarty grinned. "Anywho, like I was saying, I need you two to understand that Junior is off-limits. He stays out of our little game. You understand, don't you?"

"The same goes for Irene," John said darkly. "If either of you or your kid lays a hand on her, I will personally hunt you down and remove each of your organs as slowly as possible."

"I hate to break it to you, Johnny," Moriarty said, "but Junior's going to be doing a lot more than laying a hand on her tonight."

The stem of John's champagne glass snapped and shattered in his now clenched fist. Sherlock put a hand on his shoulder.

"What he means," Moran said, eyeing John's quickly reddening face, "is that the same courtesy will of course be extended to your daughter."

John started swearing colorfully.

"Oh, John!" a voice called loudly from somewhere to the side. "Sherlock!"

John took a deep breath and turned to see Mrs. Hudson hurrying over, face lit up with excitement.

"There you are!" she said. "I've been looking for you two all evening. The wedding was beautiful, don't you think? Irene looked just stunning in her dress – brought me to tears when I saw her. Congratulations to you both! You didn't tell me, though. Why was no one on the groom's side?"

"Oh, that's because he's a reformed serial killer," Moriarty spoke up, looking very pleased with himself.

Mrs. Hudson stopped. She blinked, then laughed nervously.

"You're joking, aren't you?"

"Nope!" Moriarty grinned, popping the 'p' with delight. He leaned in a bit and added in a hushed voice, "Stay away from the dad, though. He isn't."

"What?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "A serial killer?"

"Reformed," Moriarty said. He gave John and Sherlock an exaggerated wink and then turned and left, Moran following close behind.

"Who on earth were they?" Mrs. Hudson asked, looking pale.

"The fathers of the groom," Sherlock explained.

"The fathers… But he just said… Well, which one's the serial killer, then?"

"Both of them."

John downed the champagne from his crumbling glass and turned to watch Sebastian Moran Jr. plant a kiss on his daughter's lips. If he was going to survive the night, he was going to require a lot more alcohol.

"Family dinners," he said to Sherlock later that night, "are absolutely out of the question."

Sherlock just hummed, a glitter of interest in his eyes.


End file.
